


Hold On To Me

by Sansael



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (not explicit) - Freeform, But also, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Kiss, Gen, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 19:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansael/pseuds/Sansael
Summary: “Come on, angel,” Crowley tagged onto his hand, but Aziraphale managed to go only as far as the entry hall, and then stopped dead on his tracks.“Azira--? Oh,” Crowley followed his stare. Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed on the dark scorch mark on the floor. It was like a black hole against the grey floor and impossible to mistake for anything but pitiful remains of a demon.“I thought,” Aziraphale whispered, and then stuttered. To his mortification he felt his eyes well.________________It wasn't Crowley who stumbled into "A. Z. Fell and Co" bookshop to find it burning and devoid of his friend.It was Aziraphale to ran into Crowley's flat to find a wretched scorch mark on the floor.





	Hold On To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Introspection into the famouse scene reverse, as well as the exploration of emotional baggage left from the lifetime of being put down by fellow angels.

Aziraphale has stumbled onto the road leading to the airbase off the scooter that really was never designed to carry three people, and yet did just so splendidly. 

His head was ringing. He barely remember the road to Tadfield, but the fact was, he was approaching the airbase where everything was bound to happen, Madame Tracy and Shadwell in tow.

Foolish angel, a voice in his head spoke, you have no chance on your own. Shut up, Aziraphale thought, and willed away a thought that had he not been alone, then there would be a sliver of hope. 

He owed Crowley to at least try and save this godforsaken planet.

Even if he himself didn’t see much point in saving it when Crowley was gone.

 _Don’t think_ , he resolutely told himself, snapping the guard away, not caring where the man would end up at. Couple of minutes later, he was on the tarmac, the four horsemen and four children already there, when he heard it: Queen blasting and familiar engine roaring. He turned to look, and there was Crowley’s beloved Bentley. It was on fire, quite literally, it was engulfed in fire. It stopped not too far from where they all had been gathered, the door opening, and Crowley sauntering out of it. Alive, breathing, soothy, limbs swaying like he hasn’t quite figured knees, but alive and whole. Aziraphale’s breath got caught in his throat. 

“Aziraphale,” the demon shouted, “found your book,” he brandished the Nice and Accurate Prophecies, its green cover gleaming under the setting sun. “Did you really just left it for me to find and figure it all out myself, instead of, I don’t know, calling me?” 

His voice was accusing, and there was badly-covered hurt in it, but the angel didn’t care. Ignoring the horsemen and children, he all but ran towards Crowley and brought him into hard embrace. 

“Wha-?” Crowley’s hands flailed, as he was forcibly brought close, Aziraphale squeezing him hard, hands bunching in his jacket. “Zira- Wh-”

“I thought you’re dead,” the angel breathed into Crowley’s bony shoulder, barely holding it together. Crowley stilled in his hold, and then hesitantly wrapped his arms around him as well.

“I’m right here,” the demon said, and maybe if he had another moment to process it, Aziraphale would’ve completely fallen apart, but that was the moment when one of the horsemen chose to speak. 

**

For a while, there was no time to think about anything, but, well, the Apocalypse, although Aziraphale had never let go of Crowley’s hand, only for a briefest moment, to lend support and encouragement to Adam. 

And then he found himself once again on the threshold of Crowley’s flat. 

“Come on, angel,” Crowley tagged onto his hand, but Aziraphale managed to go only as far as the entry hall, and then stopped dead on his tracks. 

“Azira--? Oh,” Crowley followed his stare. Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed on the dark scorch mark on the floor. It was like a black hole against the grey floor and impossible to mistake for anything but pitiful remains of a demon. 

“I thought,” Aziraphale whispered, and then stuttered. To his mortification he felt his eyes well. The exhaustion and guilt were taking their toll and he couldn’t will the wetness away.

“Angel!” Crowley’s voice sounded from far away, and Aziraphale was once again stuck looking at that wretched scorch mark, the horror swelling within him, drowning him completely, there was no air, only the realization- realization- 

“Aziraphale,” suddenly his vision was obscured by Crowley, his glasses gone, his yellow eyes worried and a little scared. “Aziraphale, breath for me, come on, in and out, in and out, just like that, in and out, I know you can do it...”

Dimly, Aziraphale was aware of the hands on his shoulders stirring him away from the hall, Crowley’s face never leaving his line of vision. He found himself pushed down to sit, Crowley kneeling in front of him, his hands coming up to cup Azaraphale’s face. The panic receded a tiny bit, allowing Aziraphale to take in that he was no longer in the hall, but in the bedroom, sitting on Crowley’s bed. 

“It’s Ligur,” Crowley said softly. “It’s Ligur’s scorch mark. I put the bucket with holy water over the door and when he pushed the door, it fell on him and he died. It’s his scorch mark.”

“I thought,” Aziraphale gulped a breath, trying to calm down, but the horror and grief that he had been pushing down finally broke free. It did not matter Crowley was alive and holding him. The horrible grief and loss were overwhelming and the words started tumbling out of his mouth seemingly on their own accord. “I thought you did it, that you killed yourself.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“But I thought you would, I’ve always was afraid you would do it, and then I was here, and you weren’t, and there was that awful scorch mark,” the tears came afresh and Crowley made a small squawking sound, but it was very important for Aziraphale to make him understand. “I thought I killed you,” he said miserably.

“You didn’t-- I’m here,” Crowley sounded so out of depth.

“Oh but I thought so,” he reached out and grabbed onto Crowley’s wrists, his pulse like a benediction beneath his fingers. “I pushed you away, again and _again_ , lied to you, and when I finally understood what is important, you were gone.”

“It was… Gabriel was right, I really am a no good angel, a wretched little excuse of one, always mucking everything up, bringing death onto the one person who really cared about me, and without whom I can’t live without-- I didn’t even care for the planet, I wanted- I didn’t-- wanted to do it in your honour, I didn’t care if I died in the process-”

“Aziraphale, stop it,” Crowley’s voice cut in and Aziraphale shut up. He opened his eyes (when has he shut them?) to see a hard, unreadable expression on his face. Crowley’s thumbs swept his tears away, and the tender gesture was a contrast to his stern voice. He then stood up and for a moment Aziraphale thought _this is it, he’s going to leave now, what have you done, you foolish angel_ , but instead Crowley put one hand across Aziraphale’s shoulders and one on the back of his head and drew him close, pressing him to himself. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Crowley’s voice was low and Aziraphale felt it vibrating against his ear where it was pressed into Crowley’s chest. “You didn’t kill me. You would have never killed me.”

“Holy water-”

“Was never meant for me,” Crowley’s voice was firm, his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair warm, gently stroking his scalp. Aziraphale brought his hands up and wrapped them around demon’s middle, bringing them even closer, clinging to him fiercely. He breathed in the sooty smell of Crowley’s shirt and drew comfort from the embrace, the feeling of small soothing circles that the hand across his shoulders kept drawing made him feel safe. 

They stood like that for a long time, until Aziraphale could breath again and calmed down a bit. 

“I’m fine,” he whispered, drawing away. “Thank you, my dear. I’m sorry you had to deal with this. I must be a sight!”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley replied and then Aziraphale feels a kiss pressed into his hair. “I didn’t know you would think…”

“There was a scorch mark on your floor,” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, meeting his eyes. “What else was I supposed to think?”

Crowley didn’t answer to that. Instead, he said: “Sleep with me. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

It was a testament to how wrung out and tired he was, that the angel agreed without any reservations. 

Once they were in the bed, it took Aziraphale precisely less than a minute to reach out and grab Crowley’s hand. Crowley turned his hand so that their fingers were interlaced and squeezed lightly. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I thought you died,” Aziraphale whispered again, and just like that, Crowley moved, and wrapped him in his arms, tucking Aziraphale’s head under his chin. 

Aziraphale slept like a dead that night. 

***

“I keep thinking about your trial,” Aziraphale spoke softly, not looking from the book propped on Crowley’s knees. Crowley lowered his phone. 

“What about it?”

“How willing they were to throw you in the water,” the angel continued. “Didn’t even give you a chance to defend yourself! Oh how unfair it was on you.”

The realisation that Crowley hadn’t actually told Azirphale about his trial… if that could be considered as one, hit him like a bucket of cold water. Sure, he said about hellfire, but that was it. He never spoke about other angels and Gabriels' words. Gabriel’s smug face was infuriating still, months after. 

Crowley swung his legs from over angel’s lap and sat up, leaning forward and bringing his face close to Aziraphale’s, unsure how to start the conversation. 

“What?” The angel asked, frowning at Crowley, and clearly confused with the demon’s unhappy expression. He then reached out and patted Crowley’s hand. “They left us alone, didn't they? Hell won’t touch you again.”

“Heaven won’t touch you either,” Crowley replied, capturing Aziraphale’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. 

“We’ve shown then, haven’t we!” the angel gave Crowley one of his happy little smiles, and it broke Crowley’s heart a little to have to wipe it off his face.

“No, angel,” he squeezed his hand just a fraction tightly, looking Aziraphale in the eyes, trying to make him understand. “Heaven won’t touch you ever again, not while I’m still breathing.”

“Dear, what do you mean?” Aziraphale put the book away, turning slightly on the sofa to face Crowley. “I rather thought the trial went well?”

“You didn’t have a trial. They didn’t even give you a pretence of a fair trial,” the demon said. “They gave you an execution.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale paled slightly, his eyes growing comically big before his expression crumbled into hurt and he turned away. Crowley covered the hand he was holding with his free hand, stroking the soft skin with his thumb, waiting for him to process the information.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” finally the angel spoke, his voice small. He was looking away from Crowley, but Crowley could see the unhappy lines drawn around his eyes, the way his free hand was fidgeting and how he seemed smaller. And it struck Crowley, how Aziraphale would have this look almost always after talking to his bosses, or after visiting Heaven. Shoulders drooping, fidgety and unsettled. He thought about the way he overheard Gabriel talk to him all those years ago right before the bookshop opening, and just recently, when Gabriel thought it was Aziraphale standing before him. Crowley almost broke the character back then, wanting to wipe that obnoxious expression off the archangel’s face. Years and thousands of years and thousands of tiny clues, Aziraphale’s words and anxieties and deeds were slotting neatly into place in the demon's mind.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I rather think I’ll be a bad company now,” the angel spoke and drew free from Crowley’s hold, getting up. “I would like a good walk now, if it’s all the same for you.”

He made for the door, just as Crowley launched himself off the sofa, almost stumbling over his own limbs, and wrapped himself around the angel from behind. 

“Don’t go,” he said fervently, meaning much more than just a walk. “I love you,” he presses a kiss behind Aziraphale’s ear. “You are perfect. You are so much better than any of them,” he continues, determined to make him understand. “That bastard, Gabriel, he has no right to talk to you like that,” another fervent kiss pressed into Aziraphale’s neck. “He’s always been like this, hasn’t he? How long has he been talking down to you?” 

“Oh,” Crowley didn’t see his expression, but could clearly picture the way he was frowning, pursing his lips in face of an uncomfortable truth, a war going within himself on what to let out and what not to. Crowley felt when the fight left Aziraphale’s body and he sagged against the demon a bit, one hand coming up to cover demon’s where it was tightly clasped over his chest. “Only, I suppose, only forever.”

It was a shameful admission, that much Crowley could feel. “I remember what you said after you thought I died,” he whispered into his hair and Aziraphale shivered from his hot breath. “‘A no good angel, a wretched excuse of one’,” Crowley repeated the words that have been bugging him for a long while. “It hurt to hear you put down yourself like that. I think,” another kiss, this time to where the skin met with collar of his shirt, “I think you are better than any of them. Have always been. But I think you have started believing their words, and undersell yourself.”

Aziraphale let go of his hand, and then turned, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist and burying his face in the crook of his neck. 

“I love you,” Crowley repeated, a little helplessly. He’s never said those words aloud, just as he’s never offered such open comfort. But things have changed, haven’t they? He wasn’t afraid the angel would reject him anymore, could clearly see the longing in his eyes, and the words came easy. “I think I started falling for you when you gave away that sword to humans. tried to help them. No other angel did that.”

They stood for a while, holding onto each other, Crowley keeping a steady rhythm of praises, of reasons why he loved Aziraphale and why he shouldn’t listen to Heaven. 

“I never felt seen, you know,” the angel spoke after a while, not looking up, “not like with you. With you, I know I am seen, and heard.”

“You are.”

“And I love you too, never you doubt that,” he said and then leaned away, cupping the side of Crowley’s face, his hand gentle, a choice to be gentle, not just with Crowley, but with the world around him, and Crowley loved him all the more for that.

Then drew close and kissed him, not gentle at all, hungry, as if trying to press six thousands of years into one kiss, the hand on Crowley’s waist tightening, Crowley’s own hands coming up to thread through angel’s hair, pulling him closer. When they parted, Aziraphale leaned in, touching Crowley’s forehead, eyes closed. He looked breathless, and a smile was tugging on his well-kissed lips.

“I love you,” the angel says again. “I don’t want to have to pretend I don’t, to be too afraid of how I feel. I don’t think lying to myself is a very angelic feature.”

It makes a laugh bubble from Crowley and he was kissing Aziraphale again, both of them laughing, Crowley saying ‘i love you’s between kisses. He’s surprised a little (a lot) how easy it is to say them, when before his knees would go jelly even at the mere thought of opening up like that. 

But if he’s completely honest with himself, then the memory of Aziraphale, shaken and crying after he thought him dead, shook something loose within him. He wanted Aziraphale to know just how much loved he was. 

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered. “Anything you want, I’ll do it.”

“Just be here,” the angel replied, and the plea was more sacred any prayed could ever be.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at Sansael on tumblr.


End file.
